


With Eyes Wide

by Sparsile_Star



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 09:19:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11506377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparsile_Star/pseuds/Sparsile_Star
Summary: Raised and trained as a human weapon, Kozume Kenma never knew he needed rescue. But rescue comes to him anyway, in the form of Kuroo Tetsurou, who gives him freedom, purpose, and, above all, a name.





	With Eyes Wide

**Author's Note:**

> So I was recently rewatching the Justice League cartoon for the umpteenth time, and the character of Ace, who first appears in the two-parter episode called "Wild Cards," really intrigued me this time around. Her appearance reminded me a little bit of Kenma. Ace was taken in by the government at a very young age to be trained as a human weapon. She is eventually freed and recruited by the Joker as part of his Royal Flush Gang. She has the power to make anyone go insane, just by making eye contact with them. I thought about what her life must have been like, and decided to write a Haikyuu!! au oneshot based on this concept. It's still a little rough, but I hope you enjoy it!

A day. A day. Another day. Asleep. Awake. A meal. Testing. Tests tests tests. Wires, stimulants, lasers, tonics. Simulations, mock battles. He won, of course. He always won. A meal. More tests. Sometimes a test disguised as a game, but he still remembered enough of his former life to know the difference. Sleep. Awake; again.

Over and over and over. No variations, but then, he didn’t really need any. They put a headband on him in between battles to inhibit his powers, make him docile and complacent, and during the battles he was only concentrating on winning. He couldn’t have done anything to them, anyway. They all wore shiny metal helmets when his headband was removed, to protect themselves. And what did he know about change? He’d been here since his parents let them take him away. And he would always be here. No one else knew where he was, and even if they did, they didn’t care about him. They were afraid of him; everyone was always afraid. So the days continued, days and days and days, heaps of them. He could sift his fingers through the days like sand. Nothing mattered. Not even winning, really. He could do the tests, succeed against any adversary they tossed his way. What else was there? Nothing. Nothing and nothing and nothing.

Until…something?

It was just after a battle. He had his opponent on his knees on the concrete floor of the simulation room when the wall exploded, showering them both with bits of stone and insulation. Opponent’s eyes were wide and blank and drool was leaking from the corner of his mouth. Opponent wasn’t moving. None of them ever did when they lost.

He looked back to the ragged hole in the wall. Beyond it, and the curtain of smoke from the explosion, he could see the bright flashes of energy blasts and hear guns going off. Shadowy figures were yelling and running and falling and screaming and—

Too much noise. Too much motion. No headband to dull the swirl of emotions and it was too much, too much. He wanted his normal day back. Crouching down, he pulled his knees to his chest and pressed his face against them.

“Oy!” Someone bellowed close by.

He didn’t move.

“Kozume Kenma, right? Hey, can you hear me? We’re here for you, come on! You’re free, let’s go!”

Free? Free from what? Go where? Those words meant nothing. But the voice was different from the others he was used to. Warmer. Kinder. Better.

A hand on his shoulder, and the voice was above him now. “Hey, you okay? Listen, we need to go, we need to get outta here, fast! Can you move?”

Yes, he could move. But if he looked up and made eye contact without his headband on, he would win a battle against this person and their nice voice. Then they’d be on the floor with blank eyes and drool too, and he didn’t want that. He shook his head.

“Okay, don’t worry, I’ll carry you. Can I touch you?”

Carry. Touch. Normally he hated these things. But this voice…somehow, he trusted this voice.

He nodded.

“Great, okay. I’m gonna need your help, though, alright? We’re gonna try piggyback. I’m gonna turn around, and I need you to put your arms around my neck and your legs around my waist. Can you do that?”

Another nod. If Nicevoice turned around, he couldn’t hurt him. This was a good idea.

“Awesome. Alright, climb on.”

He did as instructed. He lifted his head and opened his eyes to see a broad back, covered in dark fabric. The hair was dark too, even under all the dust, and wild wild wild. He liked it. It looked soft. He wasn’t allowed many soft things. He wrapped his arms around the neck in front of him and Nicevoice stood a little, hoisting his legs up around his waist.

And then he was…held. Carried. Pressed flush against a warm back, a heart thump-thump-thumping deep inside it.

“Great job,” Nicevoice said, and his voice rumbled around inside his chest. It felt just as nice as it sounded. “Now hang on.”

He rested his chin on Nicevoice’s shoulder as he turned back to the hole in the wall, climbed through, and started running.

 

 

Running. Running running running and gunfire. Lots of smoke, more piles of wall for Nicevoice to jump over, more bright energy blasts for him to dodge. He was holding a gun too, shooting anyone who came too close.

He looked back a few times to see his keepers chasing after them. They were joined by strange men in suits, and some of them weren’t wearing helmets. When their gazes met his, they would stiffen and fall, one by one. Nicevoice would glance back too, and when he noticed the fallen bodies, he would reassuringly pat the leg he held, or say “nice job back there.”

Nicevoice was strange. He was just doing what he’d been taught to do, trained to do. Did Nicevoice know that this was who he was? Didn’t he realize by now that he was carrying a dangerous, terrifying weapon?

He imagined Nicevoice’s sudden disgust when he realized, which he must do at some point; it was inevitable. He imagined the arms dropping him, letting him fall to the hard ground. He thought of Nicevoice’s voice souring, turning harsh and cold…even then, he didn’t think he could hurt him. He never wanted to meet this man’s eyes.

They came to the end of a hallway, and Nicevoice peeked around the corner. He craned his neck to copy him, to make sure Nicevoice was in no danger from whoever might be hiding there.

“Kuroo! Behind you!” Another person in dark clothes ran towards them from the next stretch of hallway. His hair was streaked with black and white, and standing up in spiky tufts. A blast of energy shot from his gun, right at Nicevoice, but didn’t hit them. It whizzed straight past and he heard a yelp behind them from one of their pursuers.

“Thanks, Bo!” Nicevoice yelled at the new person, who grinned and saluted with his free hand.

Apparently, this person was an ally. He stopped looking at them. Not an opponent; no battle. He shifted, and Nicevoice jostled him a little. He made a soft noise of distress.

“Sorry,” Nicevoice said softly. “Just needed to adjust.”

“You’re good, come this way, we’re covering your escape!” Yelled Streakyhair.

Nicevoice’s body tensed, then he leapt out beyond the corner of the hallway, over to where Streakyhair stood, firing bolts of energy behind them.

Then they were running again, running and running and Nicevoice was breathing so hard. He moved one of his arms from around Nicevoice’s neck to press a hand to his chest, above where his lungs were. Nicevoice’s breaths stuttered, and he made a noise like a question, but without words.

He patted his chest again.

“What’s up, you worried about me? I’m fine,” Nicevoice said.

“What’d you say?”

“Nothing, Bo, I was talking to him.”

“Gotcha. Did you find out his name?”

“Case file said Kozume Kenma, but he didn’t answer to that when I called him.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know that’s his name.”

Nicevoice hummed. It wasn’t a happy sound. He patted his chest once more, a little harder, wanting to hear better sounds. Nicevoice chuckled then, and he was satisfied. That was a much better noise. He moved his arm back around Nicevoice’s neck and pressed his face against his warm shoulder. Streakyhair laughed.

“Dude, I think he likes you.”

“Shut up,” Nicevoice grumbled, but the words were hidden inside another chuckle.

 

 

They ran towards the brightest light yet, but it wasn’t an energy blast. It got bigger and bigger and then suddenly it was all around them. He shut his eyes against the blinding glare and clutched Nicevoice’s neck tighter.

“It’s alright, it’s just the lights from the jet. You’re going to be fine, trust me,” Nicevoice rumbled.

He did trust him. He trusted him as they ran up a ramp into the curved underbelly of the jet. He trusted him that the other people there were friendly, and averted his eyes as he and Streakyhair started talking to them. He trusted him when the whole structure started roaring and shaking. But he didn’t trust him when Nicevoice crouched down and let go of his legs so he could stand on his own, or when Nicevoice turned around to face him.

He shook his head violently, his long hair whipping around and hitting him in the face. Slapping his hands over his eyes, he sank heavily to the floor of the jet. No no no, he didn’t want to hurt Nicevoice. Nicevoice wasn’t wearing a protective helmet. Nicevoice didn’t know how dangerous he was without his headband. No no no no _no_ …!

He felt warm fingers on his arms and he startled, until he realized that Nicevoice had crouched down and taken his wrists in both hands.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re okay! You don’t have to hide, you can’t hurt us!”

He could, he could, he hurt anyone and everyone. It didn’t matter who or what or when. If they didn’t have helmets, or if he didn’t have his headband, they’d get hurt. He’d make them hurt, make them crazy, just by looking into their eyes. He didn’t want to do that to Nicevoice and his friends. Even the thought of it made his heart feel like a sponge soaking up icy cold water.

“No, you don’t understand, we’re immune to your power! You can make eye contact with us and not hurt us, I promise!”

Immune…? He couldn’t hurt Nicevoice? But…how was that possible? They told him he was alone, an abomination, a weapon. That he couldn’t ever have friends, and that his family gave him up, never wanted him to begin with. That his only reason for living was to hurt, maim, kill. So, how?

“…how?”

His own voice was strange and creaky in his ears, like the hinges of an old door.

“Oh, you _can_ talk!” There was joy in Nicevoice’s voice. “That’s awesome! How are we immune? Well, you have powers, right? We were assigned to come get you, because this immunity is kind of our power, mine and Bokuto’s. He’s the other guy who helped us out earlier.”

“Boku…to?” That must be Streakyhair’s real name.

“Yeah! And I’m Kuroo, Kuroo Tetsurou.”

“Kuro…” Not Nicevoice. His name was Kuro.

“That’s right! It’s all okay now. Trust me.” Kuro’s hands tugged gently at his wrists.

Trusting Kuro had gotten him this far…

He let Kuro pull his hands away from his face. He opened his eyes to see the shiny metal floor of the jet. Kuro made a pleased sound above him. “There you are!” Kuro’s hands left his wrists and rested, gently as doves, on either side of his head. They were soft and warm. Thumbs brushed his cheeks. “Look up for me, ‘kay? You can do it. You won’t hurt me, I promise.”

Trust and trust and more trust and he looked up, right into burnished, shining gold. He sucked in a sharp breath; Kuro’s eyes were the exact same color as his power-dampening headband. But this gold didn’t diminish him, didn’t make him feel woozy, quiet, or compliant. This gold warmed him from the inside out, quickened the flow of his blood, made him hungry, made him want to do more, _see_ more.

Kuro's smile was so wide it crinkled up the skin at the corners of his eyes.

He didn’t realize he was crying until Kuro’s thumbs brushed his cheeks again, smearing wetness across his skin. “It’s okay, you’re alright, everything’s fine,” he was saying, as the jet roared around them. “See? You’re not hurting me. They were wrong about you, alright? You’re not what they said you were.”

He considered this, looking back and forth between Kuro’s kind, bright eyes. “Then…” he said slowly, “what…am I?”

Kuro’s smile shrank until he was only using half his mouth. The other half looked sad. His hands dropped down into his lap. “Well, the information that we found about you says that your name is Kozume Kenma. Does that…mean anything to you?”

Kozume…Kenma. That was his name? His real name? He couldn’t remember his name coming from the mouths of his parents. And he’d only been referred to by his keepers as “subject” or “you,” or sometimes “monster” or “freak.” But if Kuro was right, then he’d been Kozume Kenma all along.

“I am…Kenma?” Kenma asked, feeling the sweet weight of his own name on his tongue.

Kuro’s eyes were honey-soft. “Yes. You’re Kenma.” He stuck out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Kenma.”

Kenma pressed his hand into Kuro’s big, warm palm. “It’s nice to meet you, too. Kuro.”


End file.
